


All Booked

by StarlightAndFireflies



Series: How Novel [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: (just a little), Book Signing, Insecure Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, John is Sweet, M/M, Molly ships Johnlock, Mrs. Hudson Ships It, Mystery Stories, Romance, Shy Sherlock, Unilock, Writer John, awesome bookstore, no not the curse word, the B word
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-11 07:09:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16471079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlightAndFireflies/pseuds/StarlightAndFireflies
Summary: “There you are!”He whips his head up to find John beaming at him. “Me?” The question is out before he can stop himself.“Of course you,” John chuckles. “I was starting to wonder if you had forgotten about me.”“Only for a while,” Sherlock admits quietly when he reaches the table, and John laughs.“Well, good of you to keep my ego in check,” he says.Sherlock accompanies John to another book signing, but wonders what all this really means. Whatarethey to each other, exactly?Well, he's about to find out.





	All Booked

When Sherlock rounds the corner and spots the bookstore, Sidney’s Pages, he sees John leaning, casual as you please, against the wall. The writer is wearing a soft-looking gunpowder grey button-up, in a shade that brings out the glint in his eyes, and also makes them look all the bluer for the contrast.

Yes, it is safe to say Sherlock’s heart leaps in his chest at the sight of him.

“Hey,” John greets with a bright smile. “How are you?”

A mere day, not even a full twenty-four hours, has passed since John has seen him. Yet the question makes Sherlock feel oddly light; John’s interest in his well-being is quite a novelty.

“Fine. How… how are you?”

Before replying, John glances up and down Sherlock, who immediately looks down at himself too. Has he spilled something on his clothes or something? No. He couldn’t have; he had changed just before coming here, realizing he couldn’t very well go to a book signing wearing a ratty t-shirt and his oldest pair of jeans. So why is John looking at him like that…?

He meets John’s gaze again. “I’m good,” John says. “You like nice.”

Oh. Sherlock bites his lower lip. John was… checking him out?

“Thank you,” he murmurs, and John grins and moves in to kiss him. When he pulls back, he leans down to pick up his bag, then steps close again and grabs Sherlock hand.

“Are you ready?”

Sherlock nods, and together they head for the entrance. Sherlock steps over the threshold of the bookstore before John, and comes to an abrupt halt. John bumps into his back and laughs in surprise.

“What?” he peers over into the space, apparently on his toes so he can tuck his chin on Sherlock’s shoulder.

“Nothing, I…” he moves forward for a better look around. John follows, then squeezes his arm, grinning up at him in amusement as Sherlock stops again, staring around in awe.

Sherlock would be perfectly happy to live here, he concludes within seconds. It would be so simple to hide—in the ceiling tiles perhaps—until night arrived and the staff left. Then he could prowl the shelves and read to his heart's content. John or Mrs. Hudson could smuggle him food on occasion. He could set up a bed in the ceiling to sleep during the day, then make his way through all the science, true crime, and mystery books by night...

“Hey,” John reaches down and squeezes his hand. “You with me, Sherlock?”

Sherlock blinks himself out of his (utterly, tantalizingly achievable) fantasy. “Yes, just observing.”

“Have you never been here before?”

“No,” he shakes his head, still looking around. “Though now that I’ve been inside, I am unsure why.”

John chuckles. “Well, I've got to chat with the owner. I'll catch up with you later, yeah?”

He turns to John, surprised. He thought being asked here meant he was expected to stay with John, to keep him company during the book signing.

John grins at him and gestures to the store at large. “Go on, I can see you're aching to explore. I don't mind. Just come find me in a bit.”

“Oh... okay,” he steps away, but turns back to look at his... companion? Is it too early to call him a boyfriend? Or... whatever people call people they date? He had neglected to describe him as anything yesterday, with Molly, and so he is still uncertain about the terminology. “I'll find you in a bit,” he says.

“With a few new books, I reckon,” John winks.

Sherlock huffs a laugh, though his head dips self-consciously before he can prevent the movement. “Probably,” he murmurs, then moves further into the store. John chuckles behind him, and the sound is almost enough to compel Sherlock to spin about and stay to just watch John laugh.

Then again, there are the books.

Besides, John will be waiting.

He steps past the front displays and registers and enters the main part of the store. Bookshelves constructed of glossy dark wood line all the walls, with sliding ladders placed here and there to reach upper shelves. There are chairs and sofas made of leather and wood and soft emerald fabric, and cheerful green lamps scattered about, along with various themed displays on tables placed periodically throughout the space.

He wanders past the classics and genre fiction into another room where the ceiling soars higher. Above, a skylight allows pale sunbeams to filter into the shelf-lined space. Here, the second story is visible, as a platform circles the sides of that level, allowing the people browsing above to peer over the banister at the rest of the shelves below.

Yes, Sherlock would gladly live here.

He loses himself for a while in the science section, where there are several intriguing chemistry volumes, and a biography of Humphry Davy. He finds an empty chair nearby and settles in, reading quite contentedly for some time.

Then, nearly an hour later, his head whips up.

Right. John.

Gathering the books in his arms—he'll decide which to buy later—he makes his way toward the mystery section, which he'd spotted earlier. He assumes John is set up there, judging from the low babble, which is above the typically accepted decibel levels for bookstores.

“So, can I ask—?” A girl's voice reaches his ears. She sounds a little flustered, and a lot excited. A fan, obviously.

“Feel free,” John sounds at ease, enjoying himself. Sherlock feels a surge of shame; was he even missed? Has John even noticed or cared that he has been gone for such a long time? Sherlock really isn't having a stellar performance at this whole... dating thing. Assuming that is what this is, this time he and John have been spending together.

“Is James Sacker bisexual?” the girl asks.

Wait. What?

Sherlock has reached the small crowd that has gathered, mingling around the display table of John's books or in the queue for him to sign. But when he hears that question, he halts. He peers between people, craning his neck until he can see John, sat in a squashy-looking emerald armchair. The writer looks a little surprised by the question too.

“Is that how you see it?” John asks with an encouraging smile.

“Well, I mean,” the fan fiddles with the corner of one of her books, an old paperback copy of the third Sherrinford book, _Villainy in Vauxhall_. “I relate to him a lot, and sometimes I get that vibe. Plus, as a bi girl, it's great to see that, even if it's not, you know, canon.”

John nods along as she speaks, still smiling. It's the smile he used at the other book signing, where Sherlock met him. It's the smile that made Sherlock want to open up to this man, even though it was a bit terrifying to do so. It's the smile that the characters possess in the books now, in his mind’s eye.

It's the smile that makes Sherlock smile too.

“Who says it isn't canon?” John says. “I'm not one to tell you that what you read in between the lines of a text is wrong. Besides, romance may not be the central theme of my books, but I think if he's anything, he's probably bi. Which is probably because aspects of my own self have seeped into the characters.”

His cheeks have gone a little pink, and Sherlock bites down on his lip, trying not to smile at such an endearing sight. The girl's eyes have widened in delight.

“Seriously?” she asks with a grin. “Nice!”

She and John bump fists and chuckle. He reaches for her book and asks her name, signing with his apparently customary flourish. Meanwhile, the girl's friend shifts closer. Until this point, he's hovered behind her, watching. Sherlock eyes him, suddenly suspicious.

Mid-twenties, mild case of eczema. Also bi, no... gay. Attends Roehampton. Has recently gotten two small dogs. Also has a slight obsession with coffee, judging from his hands.

“Mr. Watson?” he says.

“Oh, call me John.” John smiles up at the young man as he opens the girl's new copy of _Murder in Marylebone_ to sign it as well.

“John,” the man smiles, a little shyly but also a little coyly. Sherlock might have found it an attractive expression, if it weren't directed at John. Instead, he frowns, silently willing the man to stop. Unfortunately, the man continues speaking. “I can't thank you enough for doing this signing. My sister here has been talking about it all week.”

“Oh, of course. It's my pleasure,” John smiles. “So are you both fans, then?”

“Oh yeah,” the girl says. “But Ethan is actually the one who told me about your books years ago.”

“Well, I'm glad he did,” John smiles at both Ethan and the girl. Ethan beams back, and the girl grins at him, giving him a look and a significant glance at John. It's a look Sherlock can't quite decipher. Is she egging her brother on? Why? To what end?

He watches as John signs Ethan's book too and bids them farewell. Relieved, Sherlock begins to move forward again through the crowd, when the girl gestures, mouthing words. ‘ _Go ask him_ ,’ she says. Ethan turns back.

“Erm... John…” he gives him a look that is now decidedly flirtatious.

“Yes?” John looks up, a polite smile on his face.

“Would you fancy getting a coffee with me sometime?”

Sherlock freezes in place. His heart plummets into his stomach, and he swallows hard. This is it—he's lost his chance, he let himself get distracted by books too long. And now John will let this man flirt with him, and take _him_ to coffee instead of Sherlock.

Oh. What if that is just how John is? What if he always picks up people at book signings? What if Sherlock isn't special?

Who is he kidding? Of course he isn’t special.

God, how many times has John done this? Sherlock ducks his head, feeling his face heat from humiliation and shame. He’s been such a fool. He let himself fall under the spell of John’s handsome face and charming smiles, when he should have known better. No one has ever truly wanted him, with his odd face and his unfiltered mouth. Why would John be any different? Of course he isn’t, he’s just the same as the rest of them, and here is the proof. Here is the moment John will accept Ethan’s invitation, and Sherlock will still be standing here, left with nothing but a handful of books and a shattered, empty feeling in his chest.

“Oh,” John says, eyes blown wide in surprise. “Ethan... I'm sorry. I've got plans.” His voice is firm when he adds. “With my... er, boyfriend, actually.”

Wait. What? Sherlock cranes around the crowd once more, gazing at the side of John’s face. Yes, it really was _his_ voice that had spoken that word. John really was the one who said that word with a merest hint of hesitation in it, but also a hint of excitement and anticipation. John really was the one who said that small, simple word that has somehow set off a veritable paradigm shift in Sherlock’s mind. Could it be that he was wrong about John’s dating habits? Could it be that _Sherlock_ is the boyfriend John is referring to? But isn’t it too early for such a declaration? They have only been on three dates. But then, who _else_ could John mean?

Sherlock’s breath catches in his chest as the thought thunders through his mind: _John’s boyfriend. I’m John’s boyfriend._

Meanwhile, over in front of the signing table where no one knows the revelation practically vibrating within Sherlock, Ethan presses his lips together and shrugs. “Damn. Well, worth a try, right?”

He heads off, rejoining the girl near the front of the store. Sherlock wavers out of direct sight just long enough that another fan steps up to John's table for an autograph. His thoughts are still distracted— _boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend!_ —enough that he does not hear what John is saying to this new fan. He does, however, notice the rapid scan John gives the gathered people. Seeking someone in particular. Seeking... Sherlock?

With care and with burgeoning, tentative hope, Sherlock moves between a small cluster of women, trying not to drop his books. He gets trapped between a short queue at the register and a display table of fantasy novels, though, and has to backtrack, cursing silently.

“There you are!”

He whips his head up to find John beaming at him, half-risen from his chair. The fan he's just signed a book for has moved away, leaving a brief lull in the crowd.

Still, somehow, Sherlock cannot help but feel surprised at being singled out like this. He moves forward. “Me?” The question is out before he can stop himself.

_Me, your boyfriend?_

“Of course you,” John chuckles. “I was starting to wonder if you had forgotten about me.”

“Only for a while,” Sherlock admits quietly when he reaches the table, and John laughs.

“Well, good of you to keep my ego in check,” he says. “Come on, sit down with me.”

He rises fully, steps to the side, and gestures toward the green armchair.

Sherlock balks. “But John, that's your chair, for your signing. You're the author.”

John shrugs. “I can get another chair. Besides, it'd be rude to not offer you a seat, since I asked you here.”

Sherlock hesitates, then decides it might be best to go along with John's wishes. Especially since he might have just called Sherlock his _boyfriend_...

He sits, and John darts over to snatch a different chair, this one smaller and wooden and equipped with soft green cushions. Still, it looks less comfortable than the one Sherlock now occupies.

“You didn't have to do that,” he mutters. John just shakes his head, smiling. He does, however, take a moment to squeeze Sherlock's fingers under the table. The touch sends a warmth all through Sherlock, a warmth that he fears gathers in his cheeks. Unfortunately, his fear is confirmed by the grin on John's face and the affectionate sparkle that appears in the man's eyes.

After a few minutes, Sherlock feels his phone buzz in his pocket. While John is occupied signing a book, he digs it out of his pocket.

_You may have been quiet in lab, but don’t think I haven’t forgotten about yesterday! ;)_

It’s from Molly, and Sherlock purses his lips and just barely manages to keep from groaning aloud. He had been fortunate that morning, the assignment they had been given in lab sufficiently complicated and time-sensitive that there had been little time to chat, even with one’s lab partner, about anything not science-related. Sherlock had made sure he only spoke about the experiment, maintaining a perfectly professional manner the entire time. Then, as soon as they had finished, he’d dashed out, ignoring her amused and exasperated calls after him. He had hoped that would be the end of it for now.

He has not, sadly, counted on this girl’s determination. So he grudgingly types out a response.

_Fine, but I’m only answering because I know you’ll keep pestering me until I give you answers. Yes, John and I were on a date yesterday._

Her reply is near-instantaneous.

_That’s it? That’s all I get?!_

He chuckles, and notices John looking at him quizzically. He shakes his head, smiling. John grins back.

_Well, I can’t exactly gossip about him, when he’s right next to me._

_He’s with you now? Are you two on another date?!_

_Alright, alright calm down. Yes, we are._

_You’d better have more details for me next week, Sherlock Holmes!_

_Fine. Honestly, Molly, you needn’t be so excited._

_And why not? Aren’t you excited? Is he being good to you?_

Sherlock pauses before replying, taking a moment to observe John. He’s now chatting amiably with an older man, who seems to not really know who this person is and why he’s sitting here writing in people’s books. Still, he appears to be enjoying the conversation, as does John. However, Sherlock does not fail to notice the way John has his knee pressed against Sherlock’s, gently but with enough pressure to be, without doubt, deliberate contact.

He turns back to his phone, stifling a smug smile.

 _He’s being wonderful_.

He slides his phone back into his pocket, imagining the delighted squeals he will be subjected to the next time he sees Molly.

“Everything alright?” John asks. The older man has wandered away again, but this time he is holding a paperback copy of John’s first book, _Felony in Finchley_ as he heads toward the cash till.

Sherlock nods. “Just that interrogation I knew I’d get from Molly,” he says.

John laughs. “Well, you’ll have to tell me about it in a bit. I’m—” he glances at his watch, “—not quite done here. Just about thirty more minutes.”

So Sherlock sits there, watching John as he chats with the remaining customers who have come to see him. John is friendly, taking a minute or two to speak with each person on their own, but seemingly attuned to how each feels. If they are shy, he is polite and tries to coax a bit of conversation out of them, but not pushing too hard if they don’t respond well to that effort. On the other hand, if they are gregarious, he responds in kind, letting them speak, giving in-depth responses if they seek answers or just listening attentively.

Overall, Sherlock finds himself impressed with John's ability to comprehend the inner workings of so many people's minds. This is a skill Sherlock personally has never mastered, always coming off wrong-footed and uncertain. His observations may be spot-on, but emotions are beyond him.

John, on the other hand, seems to deal in emotions without any effort. No wonder his books touch people.

After a small cluster of people move away, and there is a lull in the crowd, Sherlock gives into an impulse, borne out of his silent marveling at the man beside him. He reaches out, takes John’s hand, and presses a quick kiss to his knuckles.

John blinks in surprise, though a pleased little smile fights its way onto his face. “What was that for?”

Sherlock shakes his head and shrugs, though he smiles back. John squeezes his hand and doesn’t press for answers when he lets go. He just slides his chair a bit closer to Sherlock’s, and places his hand on Sherlock’s knee briefly.

From that point on, Sherlock feels like he might be floating. John sits so close to him now, and when not signing books—even when chatting with fans—he has his arm draped over the back of Sherlock’s chair. Even Sherlock understands the implicit meaning of that gesture: a proclamation, a claiming. _This man is mine_.

A few people give Sherlock looks, knowing smiles and appraising expressions. He imagines most people have not expected John to be with a man, but miraculously no one says anything rude to them about it.

And Sherlock revels in it. He leans back against John’s arm and enjoys the show. However, in the back of his mind, the desire to kiss John grows and grows. He _wants_ to kiss him, like he perhaps never wanted to kiss anyone before. After all, no one has ever been so confident in Sherlock, so proud and so casually affectionate in public. And best of all, it’s _John_ , John Watson, published author, a man Sherlock has for so long only known by his name on a printed page and yet a man who somehow managed to be better in real life.

Yes, he wants. He wants this arm around his shoulder, he wants those kisses they shared last night, and he wants... _more_. He both wants to stay here in this beautiful shop, surrounded by words and John’s gentle touch, and also to be somewhere alone, so that he might be entirely enveloped by the remarkable man beside him. This contraction thrills and frightens him in equal measure: what a power John seems to hold over him. Sherlock has never taken a risk like this, and he wills himself not to physically tense at the thought, and at the strange exhilaration the thought carries with it.

At last, the final customer leaves, and John sits back and checks his watch.

“Alright, I'm probably about done,” he says. “We’re going to get something to eat after, right?”

Sherlock blinks but smiles. John radiates sincerity, and something about that fact makes Sherlock lower his guard again. “Alright.”

“Sherlock?” A new voice says, drawing his attention. He whips his head around, and his eyes widen.

“Mrs. Hudson,” he says, standing. She's clutching a copy of _Murder in Marylebone_ , gazing at him in surprise. He feels an unexpected surge of affection for this woman and moves to kiss her cheek; after all, without her and her book recommendations, he would never have met John.

“Oh dear, I should have known you'd already be here. Have you bought the book?”

“I... yes,” he replies, a little baffled. Then, he looks her up and down and nods. “Ah, that's why you're here.”

“Yes, I wanted to pick this up for you. Of course, I guess that's pointless now.” She hesitates to put the book back on the display, though, glancing at something behind Sherlock. Or someone.

He turns, realizing he's neglected to introduce anyone. “Right, sorry! Erm... John, this is Mrs. Hudson, my landlady.”

“Hi,” John beams, that charming smile dazzling as he shakes her hand.

“And this is—” Sherlock continues, the words catching a little in his throat. But he fixes his eyes on John, and without warning a perhaps-insane sense of confidence wells up within him. “This is John Watson,” he tells Mrs. Hudson. “My boyfriend.”

His landlady gasps, her hand jumping up to her mouth as a grin appears there. “Oh, Sherlock, that's wonderful!”

John, meanwhile, is staring at Sherlock. His countenance is surprised, but also delighted and proud.

“Yes, it is,” he says, and he takes Sherlock's hand. “He's told me about you, Mrs. Hudson.”

She titters, and John starts chatting with her, and their words wash over Sherlock. But he does not hear them, not really, as his attention is fixed on his own fingers interlocked with John's.

Yes, this is far better than the science books.

He must remember to buy Mrs. Hudson that copy of _Murder in Marylebone_ to thank her for this.

 

* * *

 

It is well after lunchtime, so Sherlock feels safe leading John to Angelo’s, which is luckily just under ten minutes away on foot. John seems perfectly content to walk, the crowds lightening as people’s lunch hours end and they head back to work. Sherlock still somehow manages to get rammed into rather badly, and he staggers into John, who catches him by the arm.

“Oi, watch it!” John barks back to the offending pedestrian, an older man so absorbed in his phone call he doesn't even react. Rolling his eyes, John turns back to Sherlock. “You okay?”

Sherlock nods, clutching his new book—he’d finally settled on the Davy biography, after much deliberation and some input from John—to his chest. John squeezes his arm and starts to step away.

But Sherlock darts forward again, grabbing John’s hand this time. His reward comes in the form of a surprised but pleased look from John—his _boyfriend_ , he still can hardly believe it. Together, fingers entwined, they continue down the street.

Angelo’s restaurant isn’t too crowded, and Billy seats them at Sherlock’s favourite table near the window. Best vantage point, but also the best view of the skyline and the charming shop fronts.

Remembering earlier with the green chair, Sherlock takes his turn in pulling out John’s chair for him.

“Thanks, handsome,” John winks as they settle into their seats.

“You’re welcome, John.” Sherlock smiles shyly. “So—”

“Did you really mean it?” John blurts out, interrupting Sherlock suddenly. For once, he is the one who is blushing. “I—I mean, what you said, to Mrs. Hudson about me.”

Sherlock swallows hard. “I—I did. That is… if you did,” he replies.

John’s eyes widen. “You heard…?” He seems to have not realized Sherlock was within earshot while John was speaking with Ethan and his sister.

“I did,” Sherlock nods, eyebrows coming together. “I didn’t… didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

“That’s alright,” John smiles. “And… really, it’s good. I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

Sherlock smirks. “Is that a book pun?”

John laughs, loud and freely, throwing back his head in a way that reminds Sherlock, somehow, of a child. He wonders if he has ever laughed that way, and marvels that it comes so easily to John.

“Not an intended one,” John manages a moment later, still giggling. Sherlock chuckles a bit too; John’s laughter is infectious.

“So you’ve been here before? What’s good?”

Sherlock watches John flick open a menu, then glance up at him expectantly. That expression, trusting and affectionate, like nothing Sherlock has ever known, makes him feel a bit bold all of a sudden.

“Let’s get some wine,” he suggests before he can second-guess himself too much. “After all, this is a date… boyfriend.”

John beams at him. “It’s a date, boyfriend,” he echoes, and Sherlock feels warm all over.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. The bookstore featured in this story, “Sidney’s Pages” is not a real store. The name is a pun—surprise, surprise—on Sidney Paget, the illustrator of the Holmes stories for Conan Doyle.  
> 2\. The interior of Sidney’s Pages is loosely inspired by a real bookstore called [Daunt Books](https://www.dauntbooks.co.uk/marylebone/). This store looks lovely, and really is just about 10 minutes’ walk from Baker Street. The only reason Sherlock wouldn’t have gone to that store for the signing is because he’s a huge fan and wanted the book sooner. Nerd. I for one have never done such a thing ;)  
> 3\. The biography of Humphry Davy is not meant to be any specific book. However, I chose Davy because not only was he a renowned scientist, he also wrote poetry! He was even friends with poets Coleridge and Wordsworth. He may have prioritized scientific studies (like discovering elements and messing with laughing gas), but the inadvertent connection to my Sherlock was too good to resist.


End file.
